Karis, Chapter 20: Camp

“No, Tamara,” Paul said. “I can’t let you go. It’s out of Com range. Campers are not allowed to take phones, and you do not get an exception. If you needed help, we wouldn’t be able to get to you in time, and God knows you’ve needed help this year.”

My church’s high school summer camp was coming up, and I wanted to go. I had missed camp the year before because of Luescher’s trial—for all the good it did. I was anx­ious to see my camp friends. Paul, though, thought it was too dan­gerous.

Paul always worried about my safety; it’s one thing he did very well—worry. No matter where I was, what I was doing, or with whom I was doing it, Paul wanted to know. He was infinitely worse than my parents ever had been. When I went out with the girls, Paul wanted to come along or have Tim come with us. Most of the time, I let Tim ditch me, which he was more than eager to do.

Whenever I went out after school just to hang out downtown—thanks to my job, it wasn’t that often any longer—Krino came out of the shadows early and followed me around town at a respectable distance. Some­times I didn’t even know he was following us. But other times—like when he tackled Brian, sneaking up on me to give me a hug—his constant protection became not only annoying but also hazardous to my friendships.

“Paul,” I whined. “Nothing’s going to happen. I guess I should have seen the Massacre coming after everything that happened at summer camps over the years.”

“What do you mean?” Paul asked.

“The last year I went to camp, there was a huge flood—an ‘every 500 years’ kind of flood. No one at camp was hurt, but a couple people in the nearby town died. The year before that, some locals came by the public campground where we were staying, and Jed made all the girls get in our tents and stay there. The year before that, a different public campground was invaded by a different set of locals. Jed chased them off, but they came back in the middle of the night and tried to ‘visit’ my tent-mates, if you know what I mean.

“I’ve already had more than my fair share of run-ins with the criminal element, and I can handle them. We’re not going to a public campground this year, so you don’t have to worry about crazy locals—who you know I could take care of by myself.

“So you see Paul, I’ll be safe. What else could happen?”

“Tamara, that doesn’t make me feel any better about letting you go,” Paul said.

“Paul, if you don’t let me go, I’ll never forgive you,” I said.

“If you get hurt because I did let you go, neither will I,” Paul said.

At that point I decided to bring out the big guns. I looked up at him with my saddest puppy-dog face and said qui­etly, “But Paul, I want to go. I want to be a Weatherby one last time.”

Paul tried to look away, but couldn’t. He smiled slightly and I could see his resolve cracking. “Tamara, you’ve been here too long—you’ve developed super powers.”

“What do you mean?” I said, still looking sad and throwing in a few bats of my eyelids for good measure.

“You know exactly what to do to get your way. Do you know how many executives around the world would love to have your ability? Okay, you can go to camp; just promise to stay safe.”

I jumped up and threw my arms around his neck. “Thanks Paul!”

“Just remember to use your powers for good and not evil,” Paul said with a smile.

After deciding I could go to camp with my friends, Paul decided that all the kids in the youth group should be able to go as well. After all our fundraising events—car washes, can drives, garage sales, a fireworks stand, the usual things—Paul paid the rest of the way for every kid that wanted to go. More than 90 campers went to camp that year and Paul got quite a hefty tax write-off.